Two writers for the price of one blog

Push

♦ I feel safe sharing this after Monocle’s lovely serial. This is the slender thread that reaches into the darker parts of me. Tug at your own risk. -X

My scrutiny to me felt like hungry prodding fingers on every inch of her bared flesh, but she was used to those kinds of attentions. She opened her painted mouth wide and laughed, putting her broad palm on her breasts to still their jiggling. How pointlessly thoughtful. My eyes moved down her body for the thousandth time.

A waistcincher, a couple of sizes too small to give her naturally lithe, boyish body an hourglass shape. Dior heels – tight and high to make her tall. She liked it when people looked up to her.

No bra.

No panties.

I exhaled so lustily a man standing by gave me an inquisitive look. She walked carefully, and I noticed redness on her pale feet around those cruel straps.

I sat down at a table in the far corner of the room and closed my eyes. I had to be here, but I was invisible to all of these people. It’s the way I liked it. My meager store of patience was already gone, and I’d never been much of a brown-noser. My colleagues had warned me that I’d have to do a great deal of brown-nosing, though. After all, these people were the main consumer of my product. I sighed again.

It had an echo.

She sat near me, in the dark. Her face was serene for the first time this evening, like she looked when she was sure no one was looking. I had looked at her, but then again, she most probably thought I was no one. Silly bitch.

But I loved bitches, silly or otherwise.

She jumped when I lifted my glass to drink.

“Oh, I didn’t think anyone was here.”

“There is.”

She laughed, low and a lot less nervous that before but still ingratiating. “I can’t see a thing without my glasses, and contacts creep me out. I come to these events afraid I’ll bump into tables or trip on my dress…”

“Too much information.” It was a whisper not meant to be heard.

“What?”

“How do you like the dress?”

“The dress? House of Artemis. My friend suggested I try them over the bigger names, and I have to admit, I’m not disappointed. The name’s a bit weird though, right? Really old-fashioned.”

“My parents were very Greek.”

“Huh?” She turned to get a better look at me. “I see! You’re the seamstress who did my fittings. How silly of me. I knew your voice sounded familiar.”

“Yes, I started as a seamstress…” I remembered her bare legs shining through the sheer cloth. She’d worn the tiniest shred of lace for underwear every time. I prided myself on being professional, but I’d pricked myself far more than usual during her fittings. My blood had looked good against her pale flesh.

“You mean House of me. It’s mine. I’m the one who designed every stitch and placed every panel of fabric on that gown.”

“Oops! I didn’t know, I though that-”

“That designers don’t sew?”

“I’d heard such great things, I guess I let my imagination run away with me. I imagined you’d be in Paris, or Milan, rubbing elbows with glamorous celebrities…”

“That happens later this year. And I’m not big enough for Paris. Maybe Beijing.”

“Sounds exciting too.”

She was more engaged, and it made me angry.

“So how did you get your start?…”

I didn’t look her way, but she still continued to speak to me, foolish nothings that she’d been taught to say in situations like this. The small talk was stupid, but it didn’t do much to turn me off. Maybe it was also the sneaking feeling she had other, better things to say, and wondering whether she’d say them to me. The night wasn’t getting any younger. I cut her off mid-sentence.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Oh, I…why?”

The question surprised me. Most would just take the hit and walk away, but she did not. I decided to risk it all. I responded. “Because you’re boring me.”

Her mouth dropped and those lovely eyes trembled. Real color swam underneath the rouge on her cheeks.

I started to walk away, and she ran after me with mincing steps. I walked faster. Warmth crept up from the pit of my belly as she started to pant. I turned suddenly and she bumped into me, all crinkling cloth and perfume.

“What do you want from me, then?” I looked at the diamonds at her neck. Her pulse jumped underneath them.

“Did I say I wanted anything? You ran after me.”

A cab magically appeared in front of us. I looked at her, then opened the door and got in. She looked behind her, saw a group of friends waiting on their limo, then got in beside me. We drove a couple of blocks in silence. Her hands were restless on her lap and she’d look at me every so often. There were questions in those eyes, but not confusion. My heart beat fast, but a wave of exhaustion tempered my excitement.

“I don’t mean to coddle you. We’re not going to make love.” I put my hand on her knee. She gasped as the skirt inched up her long legs, but her hands remained at her sides. I sighed when I felt skin, and I pinched her firm inner thigh hard enough to make her groan. Her scent rose up, profane incense that made the cab driver tap the brakes. He didn’t look back, though. A true professional.

✥ ✥ ✥

She reached for me as soon as my door closed, and I let her kiss me, but didn’t kiss back. Her mouth tasted good, the sour aftertaste of champagne and violet candy. She pulled again. She grazed the twin mounds of tit that spilled out of my dress, testing me. My nipples hardened for her to see, but I took her hand and led her into my bedroom. It was clean and a bit too cool.

She tried to kiss me again, softly, questioning, and I kissed back this time. Her hands were on my cheeks, warm fingertips pressing against my cheekbones. It was almost childish, and it threw me.

“Sit.” I pointed to the cushioned bench at the foot of my bed. She gave me a devastatingly shy grin and complied.

I turned to my vanity and saw her mouth painted over my own. I licked the oily red rings as I dug in my toy drawer, and found what I was looking for. Its coolness made me hard. The change was subtle, but she noticed and her smile faltered. I put the ivory-handled straight blade down in front of me and began to unzip. The dress fell off easily, and I kicked it aside. My nipples were so hard the skin of my breasts felt tight. The garter belt rode high on my waist, only partially covering the intricate decorative cuttings on my hips and stomach, a braille of lust that had taken years to do.

There was work to be done yet.

I let her look at me. Her eyes moved from my breasts to my hips to my naked pussy…then back to my hips. I walked to her, mouth already poised to speak, but her hands went to my hips without needing to be coaxed. Without a word she rubbed her lips against the cuttings, making them gory again. Her tongue snaked out to trace a line that curved right into my cunt. I lifted a foot on the bench and ran my fingers through her dark hair. Bobby pins flew and her thick hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her polished fingertips barely caressed up my leg, and her tongue hovered right over the rose carved on my mound.

“May I?” She asked.

“Yes,” I said, and her tongue licked from ass to clit with none of the shyness of her voice. Her once gentle fingertips now dug into my stockings. Her false eyelashes tickled me.

She reached back to unzip her gown. I pulled away, shaking my head.

“I don’t want you to take it off.”

Her face was so much prettier with my wetness all over it. “The skirt is way too tight for us to…for you to…”

“I didn’t mean you were going to keep it on. I just meant you weren’t taking it off.”

“Oh!” She smiled, and her big front teeth, so incredibly sexy, shone in the dim light. I pushed her back onto my bed and lay on top of her, feeling the sharp wings of her hips press into mine. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, letting me suck on her full lips and tongue her teeth. Her dress rode down dangerously – a firm tug would be all it took for her breasts to pop free – but I still got up.

“Where are you going?”

“To take off the gown.”

She started to turn on her stomach, but I hissed with irritation. She froze. I sighed and sat beside her. She looked at the patterns carved into my flesh licked her lips, tasting my saliva.

I cleared my throat. “I tried to tell you this before. I don’t get off in the conventional way. We’re not going to fuck. At least, we’re not just going to fuck.”

I pulled the straight razor from behind me and opened it. She gasped and moved away from it, but made no move to get off my bed.

“What do you want to do with that? The same thing you’ve done to yourself?”

“No, not at all. That’s my journey.”

“So…no blood?”

“No, never if you don’t want it. But if you don’t like it at all, it might be a problem.”

She sat up, digesting the new information. It was hard to breathe I was so nervous. I’d never exposed so much of my darkness so soon, but experience had taught me to be honest from the beginning, before I felt anything.

I kept my shoulders squared and my eyes closed. I didn’t want to see her debating with herself on whether to stay or leave. Now that she was here, I wanted her to stay. I liked the way she looked in my bed.

“You’re beautiful.”

I opened my eyes.

“Too beautiful to be on your knees in front of me – at least, that’s what I thought when I first met you. That, and formal. The lines of your body were so…rigid, your voice almost monotonous when you asked me questions. I figured I must’ve bored you to tears, that I wasn’t pretty enough or rich enough to make you kowtow to me like I imagined you might to the real big wigs-” she stopped and took a deep breath. I wanted to speak, but wanted to hear her speak much more. “-and that’s why that pale streak of blood on my calf shocked me after I went in for my first fitting. I knew you hadn’t pricked me – I’d felt no pain – but there it was. There was enough blood to assume it had hurt like a bitch, but you’d been silent, your breath even, as you cut and pinned the beginnings of the dress to my body. What’s interesting is that I never thought to be grossed out by it.”

She shrugged and looked at me. I was still pokerfaced, and she touched my leg.

“The next fitting, I’d found a tiny streak of blood on my thigh. I still remember what you wore that day – a gauzy white sleeveless top so sheer I could see the dark shadow of your nipples through it, and those jeans. That little gap between your thighs when you bent over your work table had me salivating.”

I smiled. I’d worn that outfit especially for her.

“I have a small confession to make, now that I’m here.”

“Go ahead.” I put the razor on the bed in front of me.

“I knew it was you.” She took it in her hands, her eyes widening to take in its shine.

“I know you know. That’s why the small talk was so damn irritating.” I let her touch my blade, something very few had done before, and none so soon.

“I like that you walked away. No one has ever…walked away.” Her eyes looked past the blade and into me. She put it back in front of me. “I started looking for the blood after my fittings. Saw a dab on my hip, a dark streak on my ribcage right underneath my breast. So close.”

I was sure she could see me my cheeks flushing now.

“You were marking me, weren’t you?”

I didn’t feel the need to lie. “Yes.”

She blinked quickly and clutched a handful of skirt in her long, slim fingers. “I don’t know…I think I liked it.” She gasped at the weight of her admission.

I raised an eyebrow. My chest felt light. She struggled with her skirt, trying to pull it up, but couldn’t.

“I want to show you something, but I can’t with this damn dress-” She pulled too hard and something ripped. She gave me a bashful look, but I laughed.

“You forgive me, don’t you? I couldn’t help it. ” I said.

She nodded. “If you’re going to take it off, please do it now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

I grabbed the razor. “Lay back again, arms over your head. And be very still. I wouldn’t want to nick you.”

She gave me a thoughtful look. “Why ruin such an expensive dress?”

I cut into the skirt and sighed when I saw thigh. “Fuck the dress. There’ll always be more.” The blade was so sharp it cut soundlessly up to her hip. The sparse silky fuzz on her mound made me feel my teeth, but first, I had to finish cutting. I tugged at the bottom of her waistcincher and tucked the blade underneath it. She jumped up, and I pulled the blade away quickly enough to avoid hurting her, but I cut my hand. It was shallow, but long.

My face was stony with anger. “Didn’t I tell you not to move?”

“I’m so sorry!” She took my injured hand in hers and kissed it. Her lips were red with my blood. “I wasn’t thinking. The cincher isn’t mine and it’s expensive.” She pressed my palm against her chest. “I promise I won’t move anymore. But let me show you, now that my legs are free.” She lay back and spread her legs. Her shoes were still on, and her calves curved gracefully as she brought her knees to her chest. My eyes were glued to her pussy, the plump slim lips and the ruffled pink inner lips that trembled as she moved.

“Look. Here.” She caressed her inner thigh, but I couldn’t see anything. I got closer. There were angry thin lines on her upper thigh, barely healed cuts. The line wasn’t too clean – pin cuts. I sat between her legs and searched for others, but saw none.

“Do you have them anywhere else?”

“No. Just there.” I pressed into the tiny scars with the pad of my thumb and she sighed. “There was blood, but it’s not the same. It wasn’t yours.” She kissed my cut hand again, tugged until the cut bled freely again. She lay back and lifted her arms over her head. “I won’t move a muscle. I promise.”

✥ ✥ ✥

Her camel colored areolas puckered to the size of quarters in the chill of my room. There was an angry line marked up her body where the wrong side of the blade had pressed as I cut and my tongue twitched to follow it.

I wanted to fall on her body and fuck her, but I resisted. The way her held her arms up even as the blade reached her clavicles staring at me blinklessly told me to wait. Once the dress fell away, she touched the red hand marked over her heart and arched, opening her legs further to touch herself. Her brown eyes had gone ochre, and I felt a stab of fear like I hadn’t felt since the first time, when the darkness was still uncharted. There was promise in this, and the possibility of forgetting.

I am currently developing a story along somewhat similar lines. A Young lady i know, has confessed that her husband wants nothing more than for her to inset neddles in his penis. It’s taking some time, but she is gradually telling me the more salient points that led to this point. A fascinating subject in a field that’s been done over and over.

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